


You Can Keep All Your Misery

by ZoeWiloh



Series: Don't Lose Your Fight, Kid [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Dealing With Trauma, Gen, Gladio POV, Oc doctor - Freeform, Self-Blame, self-hate, therapy sessions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeWiloh/pseuds/ZoeWiloh
Summary: When Gladio's only idea for how to deal with his failure to protect Noctis would be self-destructive, his father makes him go to therapy to talk things out. It's not what he expected, but maybe it could help more than he originally thought.“Well, thank you for being willing to talk to me when the alternative is death. That’s an excellent place to start.”
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: Don't Lose Your Fight, Kid [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592470
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	You Can Keep All Your Misery

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> So, I had this idea from the beginning when I started this series, it's why I didn't cover Gladio's POV in the original story. I think while everyone is dealing with a lot, Gladio has different issues to work through because he was actually there and feels personally responsible and stuff. 
> 
> My spiel on therapy: I want to take a moment to say that if you have issues you think therapy will help with, I recommend looking into it. There are good doctors and bad ones too, but finding one who helps you is worth the effort. If you're in the US and are on medicaid, please know that while psychologists and therapists and such are harder to find, they DO exist, so don't give up just because of that. 
> 
> Anyway, on with the story :)

“You really don’t  _ get _ it, do you?” Gladio asked in irritation, voice slightly raised. 

Clarus sighed harshly, almost as irritated as his son. “What do I not get, Gladio?”

“I  _ failed _ him,” Gladio hissed. “I need to be better, I  _ need _ to train so next time-”

His father silently raised an eyebrow at him. One hard look was all it took to stop him mid-sentence. “Physical training is off the table for you at the moment,” he said, pointedly glancing at Gladio’s arm, heavily bandaged and resting against his body in a sling. 

He followed his father’s gaze and practically growled in response, “I just need a chance to work some things out.”

“And does ‘work things out’ in this situation involve lifting a sword? Because you and I both know what the doctor told you regarding physical activity.”

Yes, Gladio knew very well that the doctor had recommended that he stop his training at least for a couple weeks while his arm healed, possibly longer if the healing didn’t go smoothly. No heavy lifting, no quick or taxing movements of that arm. But that was the thing about recommendations - they were essentially only suggestions. And this was one he fully intended to ignore. He just hadn’t been counting on the doctor sharing that suggestion with his father. 

“It was just a suggestion,” Gladio defended weakly, his father’s eyes boring right into his soul, making him avert his own gaze.

“If you wish to protect Noctis, you need to let your arm fully heal. If you won’t listen to a doctor’s ‘suggestion’, I shall make it an order: you are not to engage in any sort of training until a doctor clears you for it.” 

“You can’t be serious, stopping my training is the  _ last  _ thing I need! If I’m going to-”

“No, the last thing you need is to potentially cause permanent damage to your dominant arm,” his father retorted, almost eerily calm. How  _ dare _ he be so calm at a time like this?!

In response, Gladio snarled, “How do you expect me to protect him-”

“For the time being, I don’t.” 

The simple, calmly-stated words were a stab in the heart - and his throbbing arm reminded him that he knew very well what stabbing felt like after recent events. Gladio’s world felt like it was crumbling around him. He had utterly failed to protect his charge - his  _ brother -  _ and now it felt like everything had lost all sense. The core purpose of his life was to protect that kid, and now he was in surgery after nearly being cut in half. No one was sure whether he’d even see morning after traumatic injuries like that, and now his father, a Shield to his own King, was telling him  _ not  _ to find a way to make himself better prepared? 

How did that make even a bit of sense? It felt like he was being told to lay down his duty and surrender, and that was  _ never  _ going to happen. 

After such an utter failure, he expected Gladio to just lay down and let Noctis die? 

That was a suggestion he planned to ignore as well. 

Deep down, Gladio knew that going and throwing himself into training wasn’t going to help Noctis survive surgery or anything else he would face in the next few hours or, gods willing, beyond. He knew that there was nothing he could personally do to help with that, but losing Noctis was utterly unthinkable. He couldn’t imagine a world without the kid, so he was actively telling himself that there was no way Noctis would die, as illogical as that was. He already felt like he had failed just because Noctis was hurt at all, but for him to  _ die?  _ That would be catastrophic. So Gladio just kept thinking how he needed to be better for  _ when  _ Noctis recovered - not  _ if.  _

Being so lost in his spiral of thought, Gladio didn’t notice Clarus close the distance between the two of them and place a hand on each of his shoulders. “Gladiolus,” he said firmly, but gently, “I did not mean to imply a lack of trust in your ability to protect the prince. But right this moment, he is in the hands of the best doctors Lucis has to offer, as safe as he can be in these circumstances, and does not require your protection. Tonight was a situation none among us were prepared for, and if you insist on placing the blame at your own feet, then believe me when I say it belongs on  _ all  _ of us. Young Noctis was not the only victim tonight, lest you forget the other losses suffered in this massacre. Every loss falls on each of us wearing the uniform.” 

Gladio sighed, feeling the fight drain out of him at the words. They were still difficult to believe; he still wasn’t convinced that he was not solely to blame. His one responsibility was to protect the prince above all else. Noctis may be alive, but that certainly wasn’t thanks to Gladio. No one is really sure what spooked the daemon into fleeing after such a bloody display of might, but that’s what Noctis owed his safety to, not his Shield - and that idea didn’t sit well with him in the least, making his chest and stomach clench in agony and anger. 

Yet…all desire to fight - physically and verbally - was suddenly gone, only utter exhaustion left in its place. He nodded numbly. 

He was so consumed by thoughts of Noctis that he honestly had forgotten every other person who was lost that night. He tried to convince himself it was because his duty was to Noctis and Noctis alone, but the guilt inside him still swelled painfully that he had forgotten all suffering but his own. What kind of soldier was he to forget all that?

“Son, I need to go be with the King. I urge you to go see Ignis and support each other. Afterwards, I suggest you retire and at least try to sleep.” 

“I don’t know about that, dad,” he said softly. Sleeping without knowing if Noctis was okay sounded like an impossible feat. 

“I did not say it would be easy, nor that you would succeed. But do try. I will meet you in the morning and we will talk about next steps.” 

\---

Just like he said, Clarus came to find him early in the morning, leading him to a wing of the citadel Gladio was unfamiliar with. 

Turns out what his father meant by ‘next steps’ was seeing a therapist. 

Staring at the door labeled  _ Dr. Villiers, Psychologist  _ incredulously, he said, “You can’t be serious.” 

“And what makes you say that?”

“You…I…you can’t seriously expect me to see a shrink!” Gladio spluttered. 

“A  _ psychologist,”  _ he corrected firmly. “And yes, actually, I do.” 

This could not be happening. What he needed was a good go at some training dummies to work out some aggression. He needed to sweat out some of his anxiety. He needed to step up his training to be prepared to protect his charge next time. He needed to know said charge would even be okay. 

But a therapist? Come on. 

“I wouldn’t be having you do this if I didn’t believe it would help, son. Sometimes we all have trouble working things out for ourselves. A helping hand is nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Gladio wouldn’t say he was  _ ashamed,  _ exactly. It wasn’t as if he would mock someone for visiting a therapist, if that’s what helped them. But that just…wasn’t him. He didn’t need a ‘helping hand’ with his  _ feelings,  _ of all things. 

Just as Gladio was attempting to find a way to make his father see reason, the door to the therapist’s office opened. Standing there was a small, young woman, probably only ten years older than Gladio himself was. 

She smiled politely at him, saying, “Hello, I take it you’re Gladiolus?” 

“Gladio,” he grunted, still in disbelief that this was even happening. 

“Apologies, I didn’t want to assume,” she answered. “I’m Dr. Villiers, but you can call me Beth or Dr. Beth if you prefer. Please come in.” 

With one last desperate look at his father, Gladio realized he wasn’t backing down, leaving him with one option: going along with this craziness. 

So he stepped into Dr. Villiers’ office and shut the door behind him - possibly a bit too forcefully. It wasn’t as small as he suspected, but he’d half-expected it to be much like a closet, so it wasn’t saying much. She settled into an armchair situated across from a loveseat. “I, uh, hope you aren’t expecting me to lay down on that piece of dollhouse furniture you call a couch,” he said nervously. That’s how it worked in all the movies, wasn’t it? 

She chuckled at his half-joke, responding, “That is the cliche, isn’t it? No worries, you sit however you feel comfortable.” 

An inexplicable blush crossed his cheeks for a moment before he sat down heavily. “I don’t really know why I’m here,” he said preemptively. 

“Hmm, that does leave us in a bit of a pickle, as that’s usually my first question. That was your father, correct? Why don’t you tell me why he brought you here instead?” 

“Clearly ‘cause he’s lost his marbles,” Gladio muttered to himself, staring at his uninjured hand grasped tightly around his knee. When he looked up a moment later, he realized she must have heard him, judging by the slight smirk on her face. He cleared his throat uncomfortably before speaking again. “I guess he thought it would help.”

“Now, as I’m sure you know, gossip travels fast around here, so I’m pretty sure I know what you’re referring to…but I don’t like making assumptions this early in a doctor-patient relationship, so I’ll need you to be more specific, if you don’t mind.”

Sighing, he resolved himself to answering all her questions seriously. He knew his father would not find any half-truths or evasions amusing in the least, and he had a feeling the only way he was getting out of here was if he went through the motions. He was also pretty sure she couldn’t repeat anything that he said to his father, especially considering he wasn’t a minor, but that wouldn’t stop the nosy bastard from asking if he was cooperating. Truly, he loved his father, but he was a bit intense. But he also trusted his judgement, and if his father thought this would help, he could play along for now. 

And who knows? Maybe his dad was right and it would actually be helpful somehow. It wouldn’t be the first time he doubted his old man and was firmly proven wrong.

“I’m the prince’s shield,” he stated simply. “He was seriously hurt last night and I guess my dad thinks this will help me handle it, though I don’t see how.” 

“Do you think you could tell me about last night?” she asked gently. “I know it probably isn’t easy, but it’s certainly a place to start.” 

“We were on our way back from Altissia,” he began. “The boat back to Lucis was delayed, and we had too many people traveling with us to find lodging for us all, so we continued traveling in the dark. The headlights of the cars were supposed to repel daemons anyway, but apparently that didn’t work on…this one,” he continued, beginning to feel his throat closing up just talking about it. 

She considered him silently while he grappled with what he was having difficulty saying. “While it is important for you to address what happened at some point, pushing yourself too soon may not be what’s best,” the doctor reassured him. “If you want to keep going, I won’t stop you, but don’t feel pressured to do it for me if you feel you aren’t ready. Reliving trauma this way can be difficult, and there’s no shame in admitting that. I’m sure there are other topics we could discuss.”

“Yeah, uh, maybe not…yet.” 

Dr. Villiers nodded encouragingly. “That’s just fine. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?” 

“Well…I didn’t want to talk in the first place,” he said, perhaps more bluntly that courteous conversation would allow. 

She smirked in return. “That’s true. If you don’t feel like directing our conversation, would you mind if I helped steer us?” 

Gladio wasn’t big on talking about his feelings, but he wasn’t adamant about keeping them inside, either. Guys who were too scared of being seen as weak to be open and honest with themselves were pathetic excuses for men, in his opinion. But that didn’t mean he really knew what he was doing here, either. 

“I guess not? I mean, I’m here. And as much as I’d rather be taking it out on a dummy somewhere, I think my dad might kill me if I tried,” he answered, gesturing to his injured arm. It was a much more honest answer than even he was expecting. 

“Well, thank you for being willing to talk to me when the alternative is death. That’s an excellent place to start.”

Gladio looked at her in shock. “Was that a joke, Doc? Didn’t know that was allowed,” he said with a surprised bark of a laugh. 

“I could tell you can handle it. Now,” she said, moving the conversation along, “why don’t you tell me about your relationship with Noctis?” 

“I’m his Shield, he’s my charge. It’s a duty I take pride in,” he answered simply. 

“Shield, charge, duty, that makes it sound to me like your relationship is all built on formality.” 

For a moment, he was slightly taken aback by her evaluation, as it wasn’t at all true. But when he thought about the way he worded his statement, he couldn’t fault her assessment. He supposed that in the wake of nearly losing Noctis, he was suffering a sort of existential crisis. Noctis was like a brother to him without a doubt, but Gladio’s focus on this horrific failure in his duty was leaving him painting their relationship in the barest of definitions, because while he felt he had failed as a brother, he  _ knew _ he had completely failed as a Shield. Noctis was so much more than his charge, but essentially, Gladio was born to be a Shield to the future king. He’d trained since childhood and dedicated himself fully to the prince, yet when the time came to actually protect him, he’d fallen short. What good was a shield that let its wielder come to harm? Utterly useless.

“No,” he said softly. “Not at all. We’re practically brothers.” 

“So why do you think you chose to boil it down to those terms?” she probed. 

“I guess…I guess I’m just super focused on what happened last night. It’s like I’m being reminded of what I’m supposed to be doing…and what I failed to do.”

Gladio only just noticed she was jotting down notes. She probably had been the whole time. A moment later, she looked back up at him and asked, “And why does last night’s events change your relationship?” 

“It really feels like it should, but I guess it doesn’t. I just feel like I failed him so badly, I don’t even know how to handle it. If someone - or something - wants to hurt him, they’re supposed to have to go through me, but that’s not what happened. It’s hitting me hard.” 

“It’s always hard to see someone we care about hurt,” she observed blandly. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s more than that. I’m supposed to protect him, no matter what. But I couldn’t.” 

“What do you think Noctis would say to you right now, if he was hearing this?” she questioned. “How would he react to your assessment of what happened?” 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Gladio told her. It wasn’t something he had thought about. Noctis wasn’t here, and that was all his fault. Why did what Noctis could have had to say matter?

Seeing him getting lost in thought, she asked, “Do you think he’d want you beating yourself up over this?”

“Probably not,” he muttered reluctantly.

“Do you think he blames you?” 

“He should,” Gladio choked out, emotion suddenly making it hard to say the words.

“We’ll come back to that, but that’s not quite what I asked. Do you think Noctis would harbor ill will over what happened? Do you think he would think of you as any less of a brother? Less of a protector?”

“He’d probably say nothing’s changed. Kid’s too trusting for his own good.” 

That much was true. Gladio knew that Noctis wouldn’t blame him. He’s got too good of a heart to hold grudges. But that doesn’t change that maybe in this case he’d be wrong not to blame Gladio for what happened. He was supposed to be able to trust his Shield to always have his back, but instead he’d nearly been killed right by Gladio’s side. There shouldn’t be a safer place for him in the world than under the eye of his Shield, yet mere feet away his life had nearly ended before Gladio could do a damn thing about it.

“So why are you so insistent on blaming yourself?” 

“Someone should.”

“Do you mean that you feel the need to hold some of the blame for his injuries?”

“I don’t  _ need  _ to blame myself, it’s just the truth.” 

“Without knowing the exact details of what happened, I can’t tell you who, if anyone, is to blame,” Dr. Villiers began. “But sometimes victims of accidents feel the need to blame themselves, because it creates the illusion of control over the situation.” 

When Gladio didn’t answer, she continued, “Imagine a mother driving a car with her toddler in a car-seat in the back. While crossing an intersection, a truck comes out of nowhere, slamming right into the car, seriously injuring the child but leaving the mother mostly unscathed.”

Not seeing the purpose of the exercise and not liking the parallel to his relationship with Noctis, Gladio said bluntly, “What’s your point?” 

“It’s very common for the mother to blame herself in this scenario, even if she did everything right. Her child was strapped into the seat correctly, she had the green light while the truck had red, and she was driving responsibly. Yet, she  _ searches _ for a way to assign the blame to herself. She might feel she’s to blame because she hadn’t been paying better attention, despite having the right of way and no reason to anticipate danger. Or, more obliquely, she wonders if she hadn’t taken that five extra minutes in the shower, maybe they wouldn’t have been there at the same time as the truck.”

Despite knowing that the situation she was describing was clearly an analogy to what happened to Noctis and initially not liking where she was leading, he played along, quietly asking, “Why? Why would she do that?” 

“It’s human nature to want to blame someone when tragedies happen, because we don’t want to believe that bad things can happen for no reason at all. We want to think there’s something we can do to ward off tragedy.” 

“So you’re saying that the daemon attack was just some freak accident and I should just shrug off the fact that Noctis  _ nearly died and still might?” _ he asked, voice growing more hostile with each word. 

“I’m not telling you that means the outcome is automatically no big deal. I’m saying that sometimes we crave control over the unforeseen so badly that we blame ourselves, even when it isn’t entirely rational or productive.” 

“Well, why not blame the driver of the truck?” Gladio reasoned. “She’s the one who got hit.” 

“To a degree, she would, but she doesn’t know the driver, she has no control over them. And besides it being everyone’s responsibility to be safe on the road, that driver is not the one typically responsible for the safety of her child. So that begs the question: why do you blame yourself when this daemon is the thing that hurt Noctis?”

There’s a drawn out pause before Gladio admitted, “I guess I see your point. But…” 

She picked up where he trailed off, “But it’s just not that black and white?” 

“Yeah,” Gladio agreed simply. That was a good way to put it. He was starting to see why his father had brought him here - not that he’d ever admit that to Clarus.

“That’s true; it’s not. Very little in life is that simple. But do you see my point? The blame is not yours to shoulder alone.”

“Damn, Doc,” Gladio muttered. “You’re good.”

“Why, thank you,” she responded with a smile. “Now, I think we can call it a day, unless there’s anything else you’d like to cover today? If you’re willing, I’d like to see you again in two days, how about the same time? Here’s my card with a number to call in case of emergency. I keep it silent during sessions but any time I can, I’ll answer - day or night.” 

Gladio may have walked into that office weighed down by a mixture of dread, shame, and disbelief, but he was walking out considerably lighter. He knew that he couldn’t absolve himself of all blame in the situation, but talking it out had actually helped ease his mind to a degree, as much as he hated to admit it. 

Now it was time to go check on Noctis. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear any comments you have, no matter how long or short. They all mean the world to me. 
> 
> If you see anything that needs correcting, feel free to mention it :)
> 
> Until next time, if you feel like chatting about FFXV or anything in general, you can reach me on my tumblr, which is the same as my name here (zoewiloh)


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